Historical Background: Five years after Elessar took the throne of Gondor. The streets of Gondor are still at unrest, much of the outlying lands remain charred and scarred from battle, and stability is a steadily-approaching but distant hope. Orcs who fled in the wake of Sauron’s downfall have turned to banditry, venturing beyond the borders of Gondor is a perilous undertaking even for those armed to the teeth. In the cities of the Fear East, which lies beyond the woods of Eryn Lasgalen* (formerly known as Mirkwood until it was cleansed of the shadow of Dol Guldur in TA* 3019) and near the seas of Rhun, the streets teem with the now-unemployed mercenaries who would kill for a song, whilst the outlying lands are harried relentlessly by the raids of the marauding Orcs who no longer have the heavy hand of Sauron to keep them in line. Security in the city and its surrounding lands is almost non-existent even for its true inhabitants… let alone for the tall and fair-headed northerner held as prisoners or slaves.

Note: * “TA” = Third Age. The Fourth Age began in TA 3021. About the renamed forest: The Elves would call it Eryn Lasgalen – Men from the East might still be calling it Mirkwood.

Basic Storyline: The RPG Seed “For Their Sport” is adopted for this RPG, slightly adapted.

“The Easterlings are a cruel sort. You have toiled as a slave for these unkind masters, and now you have been chosen to meet a cruel end as quarry for one of their hunts. Released into the streets without weapons or gear, tired and malnourished from months or years of imprisonment, far from hope and home, you must use your wits and cooperate with your fellow prisoners if you hope to turn the tables on the hunters and escape to freedom by crossing the Anduin into Gondor and linking up with friendly forces.”

(I somehow cannot see Elves surviving under the brutal whip of the Easterlings for more than five years. It might have been possible in the days of the First Age, when the high spirit of the Firstborn was unwearied and true, but not in these days when even the remaining handful of Elves are melting into the shadows. If a player could come up with a plausible explanation for how and why their character managed to live through such brutal treatment, however, I would be open to letting them play an Elven character.)

APPEARANCE: Taller than the average, but still short and swarthy in comparison to the men of Gondor and Rohan. He is lean and muscular, the sinews rippling beneath the flesh, but somehow gives off the impression of being slight in build because he lacks the bulging muscles and the stoutness of his fellow Easterlings. Clad in the black and silver livery of an Easterling officer, he would have cut an imposing figure if the eyes half-hidden beneath the long tousled black hair was not so sad and wistful.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: He’s a seasoned swordsman, but if he had relied solely on the strength of his arms to keep himself alive then his white bones would be glistening in the morning dew of Mordor by this time. He is the least skilled in swordplay among Easterling officers, and is hopeless with a bow. He leads his men by plain common sense and an in-depth knowledge of all the dangers that lurk in the vast lands between Gondor and Seas of Rhun that was compiled by leading various raids into the wild. He is soft-spoken, cynical, and completely lacks a sense of humor. He was once brave and proud, but while it is said that when he was younger no man led so many raids into the hated northern lands or supplied the city of Rhun with so many Gondorian slaves, he contented himself with guard duty ever since he returned from the final war. The rank-and-file mutter that some tragedy must have happened in the battle, or after it perhaps, which broke the clear-voiced and idealistic young officer who used to hate Gondor with a passion and told the stories of the ancient wars with as much zest as a troubadour, and reduced him to this soft-spoken officer with bitterness in his words and a perpetual sadness in his eyes.

HISTORY: He is of the Clan of Wainrider, which was once a powerful confederation of Easterling clans who were united in their hatred against Gondor. Since he was a suckling babe, he had heard heroic stories of the Great Conquest of Ithilien and how he himself is the last of the direct male-line descendant of Liel Wainrider who slew King Ondohor and his sons in one fell stroke. He enlisted in the army when he was seventeen, a patriotic and idealistic young man who dreamed of marking his name on the pages of history like his ancestor Liel. He is a seasoned war veteran who led many forays into the outlying lands of the northern countries and fought in the War of the One Ring. He had the sense to round about the fleeing rank-and-file when the One Ring was destroyed, knowing that they would be hunted down if they fled alone and distraught, and with some Gondorian prisoners to guide the way managed to return to the City of Rhun with about half the number intact despite the many dangers on the way. Since then, he has contented himself with guard duty and left the leading of raids to the younger officers. He is a loyal and brave soldier who fought valiantly for the honor of their people, from the Easterling’s point of view, but apparently this admiration was not shared by the Gondorian prisoners that he captured . . . one of whom is currently baring naked steel at him, a cold smile lighting his countenance (See First Post for the game).

How did the things come to this pass? Mir wondered, looking up from where he sprawled on the floor, his lethargic and heavy-lidded eyes locked in a grapple with the icy stare of the escaped thrall. He had been too immersed in his paperwork to pay much attention to the sound of the ruckus outside, until a few moments ago, when the thrall burst into his office and tackled him to the floor. He was completely taken by surprise, and while he had instinctively put up a fight, it had been brief; he was no match against his young and desperate assailant, and in the initial confusion did not even have the presence of mind to give the alarm. So here he was, sprawled on the floor, with the escaped thrall on top of him, having torn his own blade Naegling from his grasp and holding it to his neck with a snarl.

“Regnár,” Artamir said slowly, recognition stirring in his eyes as he lowered them to the metallic sheen of the blade at his throat.

It was a traditional festival play, this Hunting of the Thralls. They released the useless slaves into the streets of Rhun every Harvest Festival, when the festivals in the streets reached their peak, without gear or weapons. Then the civilians and soldiers hunted these slaves down and spilled their lifeblood on the pavements of the streets as offerings to the gods in return for a bountiful harvest. They say that the more blood spilled, the better pleased the gods would be… As Mir did not believe in the gods, he distanced himself from the Harvest Festival, staying in his office to finish his paperwork while other officers and guards were all out on the streets with blade or bow hunting down the slaves. To think that a slave, instead of wandering witless in the streets, would make his way straight into his office in the heart of the guard barracks! It was insane, unbelievable… or would have been, if his assailant wasn’t Regnár.

“How pleasant that you remember me. Nice office, and what’s with that new livery, were you promoted in my absence?” A cool and icy smile lit Regnár’s countenance as he pressed the blade deeper into Mir’s neck. A thin line of blood trickled down and pooled on the floor.

Of course Mir remembered. He had been a junior officer back then, one of the many nameless rank-and-file soldier who flocked to the banner of Sauron. After the campaign ended disastrously with the destruction of the One Ring, he had taken it upon himself to shepherd the scattering rank-and-file and strike out for Rhun with the Gondorian patrols hot in pursuit. He had waited until crossing the Anduin, then deliberately made slow progress so as to let the more overzealous and overconfident vanguard overtake them. Then he struck in an ambush, killed most of the soldiers, and took about half a dozen, including the leader of the vanguard, back to Rhun as war slaves. He was promoted to the senior officer for this feat. And as for the leader of the Gondorian vanguard, the young man with fire and ice in his spirit and an unyielding pride that made him a difficult prisoner to control, he had not seen him after he handed the prisoners over to the higher ups and received his promotion… until now. Apparently, the five years of slavery had done little to quench Regnár’s spirit or his fighting skills.

“Did you really think that this was a good idea, coming after me? At least, in the streets, there is some chance of hiding out until the festival is over and then slipping out unnoticed. Here? Even if you kill me, how do you presume to escape from the barracks?” Artamir tried to smile back in return, trying to maintain his pride, even though he was sure that death was just around the corner.

By the corner of his eyes, he could see the two children – half Easterling, but with enough of the Gondorian blood in them to make them completely Gondorian in appearance – cowering in the corner of the office. He had purchased them in the open slave market the day he came back from the war, the girl as little as six back then, on what could only be assumed to be a sudden whim. He had no wife or relatives, and his deserted home needed dusting, and he needed someone to lit a crackling fire in the fireplace or cook for him. He would have done better to buy a mature woman slave instead, since the children were near useless in housework and spent most of the time playing, and he ended up doing most of the housework anyway, but it didn’t matter. He never meant to indulge them, but he had never raised a hand against them either, perhaps because he just didn’t care. They reminded… No. Better not to think about it.

“We’d never be free of this cursed place alone. But with your help…” The smile again, and this time even icier.

“We’re returning to Gondor,” another voice rang from behind the door. Then there was the sound of the door opening, and more gaunt-looking slaves milled into the office, most of them whom he did not recognize, except for one soldier who had also been a member of the pursuit squad. What the… Did that Regnár bring them? Mir suddenly remembered with a flash how he gathered up the scattering Easterlings and returned to their homeland against overwhelming odds. How ironic. He hoped for a moment to hear the pound of the guards and the alarm bell, but no, there was no one who could help him. Outside the street the ruckus still went on, but the hallway outside the office was deserted and without a sound. Of course. All the guards are out on the streets hunting as well. The guard barracks was actually the safest place to be in the moment.

“You’re more foolish than I had thought, if you believed that I could procure a ship for you or open the barred gates of Rhun.” Mir said quietly, pushing away the blade that still pressed into his throat. “Kill me for vengeance if you wish, but you’ll never get out of this city alive. Once released, you’re offerings to appease the wrath of the gods; even the king himself would not be allowed to snatch you to safety, even if he wanted to. And the guards will be returning any moment. Good luck with your afterlife, kid, I’ll meet you on the road to hell.”

“You’ll cooperate if you don’t want to be flayed alive, as much pleasure as I would derive from doing so, Easterling. For starters, find us some inconspicuous clothing, and let’s move camp to somewhere less dangerous; preferably your home. And if ” It was a low and soft purring, but there was a steely ring to it that left no doubt as to its sincerity.

Mir almost laughed outright. You’ll kill me anyway when I am of no more use to you, he was going to say. And he wasn’t afraid of death; not now, not when she… No, not this again. His eyes flickered for a moment to the children cowering in the corner, then to the gaunt slaves, and then back to the cool stare of Regnár. His mouth twisted in what might be a grimace or a bitter smile. Perhaps he deserved this, after so many years of doing the exact same thing to other people. And he had killed them, too, or sold them as slaves- Life was such a strange thing. One of the Haradrim mercenaries that he used to work with wouldn’t shut up about a concept called ‘karma’, and while he had paid little attention then, he couldn’t stop thinking about it now. Perhaps this karma was catching up to him, after all.

“Throw on the guard livery in the closet,” Mir said bitterly. “And get that knife off my throat, unless you want to chop it in two, in which case you’ll be a porcupine of arrows before the night is set. I’ll take you to my home.”

WEAPONS (No magical, super-hero, mithril weapons. Just good solid Middle-earth weapons and armor only that is appropriate to the race of the character and the time period.):

APPEARANCE:

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: (No half-Elven characters. No mixed-type characters (that is, no half-Dwarf, half-Valar/Isatari, half-Orc, half-Hobbit, etc – mixes between the races of Men are alright for the game). No super-heroes. No assassins. No one all powerful, martial arts proficient, or having any magical traits. Just regular characters with normal abilities for their races only):

The RPG starts with the Gondorian/Rohirric prisoners escaping into the streets during the city's Harvest Festival (See First Post for information about this festival with its ritual slave Hunt) From there they might want to raid a weapons' store or somehow arm themselves. And then, of course, they will have to make a choice of how to leave the city - either flee on foot or steal a ship and cross the sea of Rhun . . .

I just wanted to post to tell you that I am interested, though I have not had the time to start on a bio. My semester is wrapping up, and will be over by early May, so I will have more time after that to dedicate to my RPing... Anyway, I will get a bio done as soon as I can! (No, I'm not saying you have to wait till May for a bio, hehe...I hope not!)

I'm interested in playing a soldier, perhaps the 'Gondorian Soldier #1.'

Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.

Posts: 5,228

This looks like a fairly fun game to play, but life for me has been so busy and it doesn't look like it's going to slow down, so I really don't know if I should even try. I joined another RPG last year, and have all but dropped out of that...it's quite sad.

So, I don't know. What do you think, Eorl? Would you have me join and then maybe play for a while before other things keep me from posting, or should I just stay out altogether? If I join, I would like to take either the little girl or the teenage boy.

-- Foley

__________________
A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. - C.S. Lewis

So, I don't know. What do you think, Eorl? Would you have me join and then maybe play for a while before other things keep me from posting, or should I just stay out altogether? If I join, I would like to take either the little girl or the teenage boy.

It's your call, Foley. I would be delighted to have you on board, even briefly, but if you are too busy with real life issues -
If you think you could handle it for a while, then, welcome on board!

Poke me if you still need more players in a week or two. I'm really very busy and two RPG commitments plus the occasional werewolf game is enough, but I know I just really love creating and developing new characters... *sigh* I have little preference over character, so you can leave me the leftovers (and if you absolutely require a preference, it's having a female character because I'm slightly annoyed at all my female characters resembling each other so I'd like to change that).

__________________Like the stars chase the sun, over the glowing hill I will conquer
Blood is running deep, some things never sleep

This looks like fun and I think I'm in - if you'll have me, that is. I would be interested in playing the teenage boy (unless Folwren choses to play him, since she announced first). Since I like seeing just how far I can have my characters develop, what better way to do so than with a character that's young and slightly inexperienced? But if Folwren does decide to take him, any other character would suit me fine.

__________________Is this the end? No more the hunt, the journey and the goal? That terrifies me most: no more the goal! -Ray Bradbury, Leviathan '99

This looks like fun and I think I'm in - if you'll have me, that is. I would be interested in playing the teenage boy (unless Folwren choses to play him, since she announced first). Since I like seeing just how far I can have my characters develop, what better way to do so than with a character that's young and slightly inexperienced? But if Folwren does decide to take him, any other character would suit me fine.

Hi, Dimturiel!

Dimturiel, you don't necessarily have to take the teenage boy in order to have a young character. I haven't specified anything about the characters because I wanted to leave it up to the players who would create the character. I would assume that a former soldier is at least 20, but if you are playing a civilian, he could be a ten-year-old or a fifty-year-old. Your call.

Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.

Posts: 5,228

Dim, you can have the boy, I'll take the girl. I enjoy playing a character who is close to another character played by another real-life player. And I am assuming the little girl and the boy are pretty close?

I'll go 'head and join, therefore.

Eorl, if you have plans for these little kid characters, please let us know...looks like you have some of their history already mapped out. Could you send at least me a PM? I am guessing that Dimturiel will want to know all the details, too.

-- Foley

__________________
A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. - C.S. Lewis

Eorl, if you have plans for these little kid characters, please let us know...looks like you have some of their history already mapped out. Could you send at least me a PM? I am guessing that Dimturiel will want to know all the details, too.

I sent you the PM. If you give me the green light, then I'll send one to Dimturiel, too. It's not so much a plan as a minor unexplained detail.

Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.

Posts: 5,228

Yeah, I keep thinking about this thread, and about how you must be feeling. lol. I will re-read your PM sometime (hopefully this weekend) and get up a bio. I don't know about a first post yet, though, we'll see.

-- Foley

__________________
A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. - C.S. Lewis

Here is my bio for approval! Let me know if there are any problems. I tried to make him fit with what was in the first post for the game -- I hope I did a fine job of that. He is pretty similar to Artamir when it comes down to it -- I think that will make their conflict even more interesting. I think he will also be wanting to kill Artamir at every step of the way (whenever he feels they don't really need him anymore), and will probably need someone to convince him not to rather religiously...

Sorry I've not yet had the time to do a first post but I thought I'd at least post his bio. Should my first post go very far/at all past the first post for the game or should I simply give Regnar's perspective of the struggle between him and Artamir?

------------------------------------

Name: RegnárAge: Late 20sRace: Man, Gondorian

Weapons: Currently just the blade he has taken from the Easterling guard

Appearance: He is not too tall, only about 5'9" or so, but he is broad of shoulder and is naturally sturdy. He is leaner than in the past due to his years as a slave, but he certainly has not lost his muscle completely. His hair is dark and his eyes dark as well. He looks closer to an Easterling these days thanks to all the time spent out in the sun. His hair is down to his chin and unkempt, and he has a good bit of beard growing -- one of his first plans after securing the guard is to get rid of as much of that mess of hair on his head and face as he can. Until he gets on a guard uniform, he has only pants to cover him as he was let loose for the slave hunt in this demeaning way.

Personality: Regnár was always a proud man, but now he has nothing but his beleaguered pride and his desire for revenge. But that is enough to drive him. He is an intelligent man, but has never had an interest in learning. He makes good decisions when he is given time to think, but can act too recklessly when he has to think on his toes. His ideas can get away from him at times and he needs someone to keep him grounded. Regnár has always had a very strong love for Gondor and his people, and was dedicated to serving his lord, whether it be the Lord Denethor whom he served faithfully in the past or King Elessar. He is a man of duty. He is not a man of ideals, particularly not anymore. At times he felt himself hoping selfishly that men of Gondor might come to the rescue of their kinsmen kept as slaves, but he knew that still his homeland must not be safe from harm or even rebuilt from the years of war. And he is but one man, and one who failed in his duty. He must save himself -- and he would certainly be serving Gondor in that process.

History: Regnár served as a soldier of Gondor from the age of 16 until he was captured and made a slave. He was the youngest of three sons with one younger sister. His eldest brother took up his father's business of smithing, and he served with his other brother in the War. His brother was one of the many men killed in the attempt to take back Osgiliath. After the war he was promoted to captain and lead groups of men on strikes against the holdouts of Orcs and Evil Men. But he was reckless and overconfident as he relentlessly hunted down a party of Easterlings. He separated his vanguard from the rest of his troops in his pursuit, and lead them into slaughter. Unfortunately, he did not die that day. Years later, the blood of his men is still on his hands; several of those who were not killed he has had to watch die in slavery. But this has not caused him to give in to guilt and despair (he is perhaps too proud to feel guilt to its fullest), but rather his guilt contributes to his need to escape, or at least to enact revenge upon the killers of his men and his captors. He had been mulling over plans of escape since the day he was taken as a slave, but others whom he tried to include in his plans frustrated his vain hopes and so kept him alive. But finally all fell into place with the arrival of the Harvest Festival and the slave hunt. They would free him for their own sport...and he would give them a good fight if nothing else.

_______________________

Durelin's post:

As Regnár pressed the knife into the Easterling's throat, he repeatedly promised himself he would kill this man...but not yet, not yet. This man was his way out of this place -- the only chance, at least. There were no guarantees, and he knew he was taking a great many risks. But when had that ever stopped him? It was what got him here in the first place, he thought bitterly...

He smiled -- he could not help it. This delighted him. This man had been the focal point of his hatred for this land and this people who enslaved him for the past five years, and before that he had hated them for the harm they had done to Gondor and for serving the Dark Lord. Regnár often thought of them more as creatures than men.

And they had tried to turn him into a creature...they would hunt and kill him as one, too. But he had more wits than a common beast, and more will. In only one way would he recognize he was like an animal: if cornered, he would fight to his death. If he could not escape through this wild plan, he would at least cause as much trouble and bring as many Easterlings down with him as he could.

The Easterling gave in to the slaves' demands; Regnár thought he would be cowardly enough to do so. The Gondorian grudgingly removed the knife from Artamir's throat and slowly rose, still holding the knife out and watching the guard carefully. He wanted dearly to take the knife and chop off some of the mess of hair on his head -- he had not been able to remain clean shaven since his capture. That and all the hours of work out in the sun had made him look more like these Easterlings. It made him feel unclean both inside and out. But his current appearance might serve to his advantage along with the guard livery...

But with pale Ariel and a woman this plan was close to madness. He knew he could trust Ariel to keep his wits about him, at least, but even after five years in the south he still looked akin to a Gondorian prince... And he knew next to nothing about this woman, except that she was an old slave. Hopefully that meant she was tough and would not slow them down, but her age might do that anyway.

Could Regnár and Ariel pose as guards, and the woman (what was her name? Suza or something?) could simply pose as the servant she was? Regnár glanced at the other beings present in the room, his mind turning. The children were witnesses...

Hey, Eorl, I just wanted to stick my head in and wish you best of luck with the RPG. If I wasn't too busy to keep up with the RPGs I'm already in, I'd love to take on a character in this one. Maybe next time.

Here is my bio for approval! Let me know if there are any problems. I tried to make him fit with what was in the first post - I hope I did a fine job of that.

Perfect! I looked it over line-by-line and found no problems whatsoever. This IS the personality I thought Ragnar would have!

Quote:

Originally Posted by Durelin

He is pretty similar to Artamir when it comes down to it -- I think that will make their conflict even more interesting.
He'd want to kill Artamir at every step of the way (whenever he feels they don't really need him anymore), and will need someone to convince him not to.

Ah, so Ragnar has a temper. Does he have a cold and cruel streak or is he prone to high passions? Either way, sounds fun!

Quote:

Originally Posted by Durelin

Should my first post go very far/at all past the first post for the game or should I simply give Regnar's perspective of the struggle between him and Artamir?

After all the roles have been filled and the character bios sent in, I was planning to write an "Artamir's Home Post".

This would be where all the characters would gather for 'consult' in order to assess their current situation and determine their future course in relative safety -
Kinda like Elrond's Council in Rivendell, except it's Gondor and not Mordor they're trying to reach and Elrond wants the hobbits dead.
My character will then basically outline the current situation and the different escape routes through which they can escape the City, currently under lockdown.
(Mir might have to be "persuaded" to give up this information but I'm sure Ragnar would be more than up to this task-)
From there on the choice is up to you; you could follow one of Artamir's redoubtable escape routes or come up with a whole new different idea.
I don't want to run a roleplay that runs a predetermined course, but one where the choices of the characters really makes a difference to the final outcome.

But for everyone's first posts, it'd be nice if you'd write only up to the character's perspective of First Post, changing into uniforms, and leaving the barracks.
Personally, I would be VERY interested in reading the re-interpretation of the conflict in the first post from Ragnar's point of view.

Finally I've managed to make up a bio for my character. Here it is. Let me know if anything needs changing.

NAME: Penram

AGE:14

RACE: Man

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: None at the beginning of the story since he is a thrall, after all. As the story progresses, he might be able to find something he could use as a weapon.

APPEARANCE: Smaller than a boy his age would usually be, but still growing. He has longish dark hair and grey eyes. His skin is dark for a Gondorian but he is not as swarthy as an Easterling either. He appears healthier than most thralls, although he still bears a few signs of past neglect.

PERSONALITY: He is quiet and rather awkward in the company of others. He has a tendency to mistrust people and sometimes he can make quick judgements about someone based only on his past experiences or on rumours. He is very protective of his younger sister and he seldom likes to have her out of his sight.

HISTORY: His mother was a Gondorian slave who had been taken in a raid when she had been quite young. Penram was born in slavery and had never set eyes on Gondor, but his mother used to tell him many stories about "the lands far West", as she used to call them, and Penram was able to recognise these lands as his home, although he was aware from an early age that he was never going to see them. His mother died shortly after his sister was born. The two children were sold then but they did not have one master for a very long time, since many considered thralls that young almost useless and hard to control as well. He was eventually bought by Artamir, along with his sister, and he has found this turn of events rather enjoyable, since he and his sister were given free rein around the house and their master did not seem to mind much that they spent most of their time playing instead of working like thralls usually did

Penram stood at the window, unable to tear his eyes from the sights outside. Merra was next to him, but at least she was not looking out. Penram wished he could turn away too, but he still stood there, watching, as if by seeing the Easterling hunt out their slaves he would somehow understand why this was happening.

Penram was always restless when the hunt started. He knew that Mir only needed to say the word, and he and probably Merra too would be thrown outside in the hunt. Since they were hardly of any use to Mir, Penram sometimes wondered whether that was not the reason why the Easterling kept the two children with him, after all. So that one year he would set them loose on the streets to give his compatriots two more helpless thralls to pursue. Of course, Mir had never treated the two harshly and sometimes Penram wanted to believe that the Easterling would never want to hurt them. But attributing kindness to his master went against everything Penram knew. He was fond of Mir, in a way, but he knew that he was an Easterling. Penram and his sister were Gondorian. Easterlings hated and despised Gondorians. They did not protect them, not unless there was some hidden reason for that protection.

Penram was distracted by noises at the door. He turned to see what it was, in time to cacth sight of a man – a slave, he could see that, and Gondorian, too, by the looks of him - bursting in, flinging himself on Mir. Penram gasped and was ready to draw a step back, when he saw Merra making as if she was ready to head towards where the two figures were wrestling. What was she doing? Penram thought, swearing softly in an involuntary burst of irritation. He ran towards her, pulling her into a corner. Perhaps, if they managed not to draw attention to themselves, they would be left alone. What would happen to them afterwards, if their master died, was another matter. Penram felt Merra trembling and put his arms about her in an attempt both to protect and to comfort.

The man had let go of Mir by now, and his eyes had fallen on Penram and Merra. Penram felt his throat becoming dry. What was he going to do to them? He would surely not let them live, after they had just witnessed him attacking an important Easterling officer. The man seemed to take a step towards them, and Penram burst out then, in a desperate attempt to keep both him and his sister alive:

“No, don’t kill us!” he pleaded. It was most likely useless, and he knew it. People never listened to pleas. If anything, it enraged them even more. “We’re Gondorian, just like you! At least spare my sister. She will not betray you. She is only a child. She cannot even understand what is happening.”

That was a lie, and Penram knew it. Merra could understand everything very well. But it was the only thing he could think of that might determine the attacker to spare them.

__________________Is this the end? No more the hunt, the journey and the goal? That terrifies me most: no more the goal! -Ray Bradbury, Leviathan '99

And with you joining us, Lommy, I think I can pick up another character (most likely Gondorian Soldier #2) and Get this RP going at last.
If anyone wants to pick up another character as well, I would be very grateful. Or if anyone could convince anyone else to join in.
But it's been almost a month, and I seriously doubt new players would be joining our ranks anytime soon.
Especially seeing as all the roleplayers who DID apply did so within THREE DAYS of the creation of this roleplay thread.

I would appreciate it if everyone would submit their Character Profiles and First Posts now.

I think I'll post the character profile and the first post for the Gondorian Soldier #2 sometime within today or tomorrow. Current Roleplayers: Dimturiel, Folwen, Thinlomien, Eorl, Durelin // Hopefully we can start roleplaying now- that is, with your approval, Pio.

APPEARANCE: At 5'8'', Susca stands only a little shorter than the average easterling man. Two decades of slavery in the sun and dust of the east have turned her tanned complexion swarthy and robbed the shine of her jet black hair as well as all the soft feminine flesh around her slender body. Apart from her height, only the occasional spark in her grey eyes recalls the proud noblewoman she once was.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Susca has always had a temper, although years of slavery have forced her to restrain herself. She hardly bothers to conceal her selfishness, cowardice or lack of empathy. On the other hand she is independent, intuitive and intelligent, and not as cold as she might first seem. She speaks little if she has nothing to say.

Susca was an artist and has the skills and eyes of a painter. Little goes unnoticed by her and she is a pure aesthetic. She used to be very beautiful and can still use her appearance to her advantage if needs be. The years as a slave in the household of a rich Easterling family has taught her to work efficiently and quietly, whatever the work in question. Also, animals - especially horses - tend to like her and she's good at co-operating with them.

Apart from the obvious faults in her personality, Susca has few other weaknesses. She has whatsoever no talent in music and despite spending 19 years with the Easterlings, her understanding of their language is still limited.

HISTORY: Year 2983 a daughter was born to the South Gondorian nobleman Orolain and his wife Flavia. They had long expected a child and the girl named Suscana was an answer to their prayers. They treasured their only child and let her have what she wanted. They gave her pretty clothes and precious jewels, and most importantly, let her do what she wanted.

As a talented painter, Suscana decided to pursue a career as an artist. It wasn't easy to be a female artist in Gondor, especially for a young unmarried woman. Assisted by her good looks and advantageous contacts Suscana managed to achieve moderate fame as a portrait and landscape artist, and many suitors came to her door, some drawn by curiousity, some by Suscana's beauty and most of them by her parents' wealth, for she was the only child and heir. To her parents' disappointment, Suscana refused all proposals. She had little interest in marriage or having children, all she wanted was to do her art and maybe have some fun every now and then.

In the summer of 3007 when Suscana was 24 years old, she was working on a commission in a manorhouse in North-Eastern Anórien. An exceptionally bold raid took a group of Easterlings to the borderlands of Rohan and Gondor, many locals were killed and many were taken captive, Suscana among them. She was taken to work as one of the divers who fetched pearls in the dangerous waters of the Sea of Rhûn until a wealthy Easterling man set his eyes on her and took her as a slave to his house.

After that Suscana, nowadays only known as Susca, has toiled in half a dozen Easterling households as a maidservant. She has made some friends, but always lost them when changing owners. She once had a baby by one of her Easterling masters, but the girl was stillborn and after that Susca hasn't become pregnant. She's had a few lovers, but none of them has lasted any more than her friendships. One could say Susca has been lonely, but what she dreams of is her palette and a paintbrush in her hand, not human contact.

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Thinlómien's post:

Suscana watched the men's angry back-and-forth with indifference. The events of the previous week bounced wildly in her head: the mysterious disappearance of Lady Rhedea's necklace, the accusing fingers of the other maids pointing at her (she should've been more careful when stalking at night to meet Kilden and she should've known better than to accuse the Lord's favourite maid of the theft, but it was all said and done now, she couldn't change it anymore), her being thrown to the dungeons to be released to the hunt and the wild plotting led by Captain Regnár.

She had thought him crazy back then, even seen a madman's glint in his dark eyes when explaining his plans to the slaves gathered around him. The idea of making it to the infamous Mir Wainrider's office in the barracks seemed like pure madness - if they managed to escape, that was definitely not the place to go to hide from Easterlings! Susca had decided not to follow any reckless plan like that but during the hunt - she was trying to push all the images of blood and faces full of anguish from her mind, no time to dwell on it right now - she had somehow found herself between the choice of following Regnár to an alley which led to the barracks or running into the hunters who were advancing from both sides.

And now they were all here. The men were quarrelling, which was nothing surprising. There was intense throbbing of pain in Susca's left arm and she hoped she hadn't broken any bones. She could not bring herself to listen to the fight between Regnàr and Mir Wainrider, even though it would determine the fate of all the people in the room. She was feeling numb, struck by both the realisation that she had survived the notorious hunt and the amount of pain and death she had seen that day.

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Eorl, let me know if anything needs changing. Also, do you need first posts soon? If yes, what does that mean in practice?

Folwren, I have the feeling you won't like my character...

PS. I won't be taking another character even though I'm tempted by the Rohanian man... I hardly have enough time to write for one character so two would be too much.

At the very least, Folwren needs to do her Character Bio before the RPG can begin.

Once that character bio is done, then I can open the game for play and players can begin posting there, if that is alright with you, Eorl, instead of posting their First Posts to the Discussion Thread.

Eorl, your First Post for the game is already in place on the RPG thread.

__________________Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.

Mmh think there's any logical or canonical way of explaining if my character had been a slave for about two decades? ...I guess so since Dury's character seems to have been a slave for about 12 years too. *off to plot*

No, Durelin's character spent five years in slavery, seeing as (1) he was captured as a result of recklessly pursuing the Easterlings who fled after the defeat of Sauron (2) the roleplay is set five years after the War. But the age of your character Suscana can be perfectly canonical. We can see in The Hobbit that even the main roads were fraught with peril and but poorly guarded in the sunset era of the Third Age. The Easterling raids to the borders of Rohan and Gondor had been in existence long before the War itself broke out. Even my character history suggests it.

By the way, Thinlomien, wonderful character bio! Since you posted the bio at 7:20 AM, I printed it out and took it with me to class because I had to leave for class in a few minutes and didn't want to spend all morning wondering what you've written. And then I read it secretly (or so I thought) in class, until my English Lit. professor actually rapped my desk and asked what I was squealing in excitement over. It was kinda embarrassing, but... meh. Anyway, I really felt as if Susca was a real person and not a character by the time I finished it!

PS. Piosenniel, sure! And I'll have the character bio for Ariel Silverwood, Gondorian Former Soldier #2, up in roughly around an hour. I hope.

Thanks Eorl. My objective was to create a female character who is not like all the other female characters I'm writing currently (sort of but not totally succeeded ) and I was slightly inspired by a book called Artemisia (sort of imaginary biography of the painter Artemisia Gentileschi who lived in early 17th century).

I'm developing a first post in my head, it will hopefully explain why Susca was judged a useless slave and put to the hunt...

__________________Like the stars chase the sun, over the glowing hill I will conquer
Blood is running deep, some things never sleep

WEAPONS: He was trained as a scout and is a dead shot with a shortbow, but currently he is weaponless.
He might find something he could use if he rummages in Mir’s weapon rack.

APPEARANCE: Black in hair, yet very fair to the point of bloodlessness in skin color, Ariel has narrow shoulders and thin limbs that seem barely more than skin and bones. Taking into account his pale gray eyes that are almost transparent in their limpidness, he seems more a wraith or a barrow-wight than a living man of flesh and blood. He mostly maintains a wary glancing look about his countenance that on rare occasions shifts to a wistful smile or a murderous snarl.

PERSONALITY: Ariel is the kind of man that would have made a loyal son, a faithful husband, and a dutiful soldier; but he never had the chance to mature into the latter two, for he was captured as a raw recruit at the age of seventeen. His mental development was stunted with fierce hatred and somber fear, and his spirit broken. For many years he had dared not even hope for anything more than sweet sleep and black hunk of bread doled out at lunchtime. This sudden turn of fortune – and the hope of seeing the sweet river Anduin once more – has shook him out of his hopeless apathy and spurred him into nervous action, but he remains almost childish in his fear and hesitation of the unknown. He is uncomfortable with a melee weapon in his hand; his long slender fingers are used to caressing only bowstrings and lute strings. In the short space of time that he has been free, which spans about one hour and half as of now, he has decidedly attached himself to Captain Regnar like a lost pup in search of its mother. Regnar is the only person he puts faith in. However, his affable nature would make him shyly kind to almost everyone else in the company; perhaps even to Mir.

HISTORY: He was the third son of a middling affluent and titled Gondorian family. The prospects were bleak for him; the land deeds and the title would probably end up with the eldest son, the financial gains with the second, but he himself could expect nothing but a decent education and a modest inheritance. So, in the rashness of youth, he applied for a position as a Gondorian scout and was accepted into the ranks when he was sixteen. He had always been fleet of foot and had a keen eye for archery, so that he was taken on various dangerous missions that would probably not have been assigned to someone so young and inexperienced otherwise. But he as a scout had never been to the forefront of the war; he had but a faint idea of the carnage and the rivers running red with blood, thought that war was a game of hiding in shadows and creeping past sleeping orcs, or of tracking and hunting down fleeing prey too weak to fight back. The ambush that Mir set up was the first disillusionment that Ariel had with war, though it was not to be the last.

Ariel was fortunate in that his first master happened to be an avid hunter and took good care that his property was not damaged or mistreated in any way as soon as he found out about his talent with the bow. Seeing as all skills grow rusty if not practiced for many years, it was fortunate that he had had more than enough chances to practice his bowmanship. This went on for five years, until Ariel’s master was killed in a hunting accident and his devout and grieving widow ‘donated’ him to the Harvest Festival Preparation Committee in order to beseech the grace of the Gods and to plead a good afterlife for her late husband. It was in the cells of the HFPC that he re-encountered his captain, Regnar, grim and weatherbeaten but unbowed, and introduced to the still-beautiful Suscana as well as the quiet young Rohirrim. (I am still hoping someone would take another character. Or that a new player would appear. Otherwise, this quiet guy can just be a nameless NPC who could just silently follow our party around, mentioned by and by in passing and written by anyone who wants to write him, I guess. ) There were two scores and half of prisoners in the cells, but these four were the only ones that managed to escape the initial hunters and meet up together beneath the shadows of the Guard Barracks just as Regnar had suggested. He had a plan, Former Captain Regnar had said quietly, and an old acquaintance to pay a visit to.

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Eorl of Rohan's post - Ariel Silverwood:

Leaning on the windowsill, Ariel swallowed nervously as another hunter swept past the curtained window of Mir's Office. In the streets, the hunt was still on. The cruel sun beat down bright on the bristling spearheads and made them sparkle as though they were made of beaten silver. The crimson-feathered ritual arrows screamed menacingly as they arced across the ashen heavens. Hounds snarled afar as the harsh whistle of the torrential wind sliced through the thin air. The streets resounded with the wailings and death-curses of the sacrificial victims; but occasional forlorn cry, perhaps a whimper, was all that marked the passing of another one hunted. Beers bubbled in their tankards as Easterlings toasted the bountiful harvest in the warmth and safety of their home, while outside blood foamed crimson in the alleyways and the gutters.

Ariel remembered more than two score faces he had seen in the cells of the Harvest Festival Preparation Committee: wide-eyed children, mothers desperately clutching suckling babes to their breasts, weeping old women, and snarling young men. They had been thrown helter-skelter into a makeshift pen like so many cattle to await the day of the Harvest Hunt. He had hoped – unreasonably, as he well knew – that all of them would survive the hunt to meet them here, in the Barracks, just as his captain had suggested. But life was cheap in the City of Rhun, why should theirs be any different? In the end, they four were the only ones that managed to make it here unscathed.

He himself, Ariel of the Silverwood, the stern and fey Captain Regnar with a fell ringing in his voice as he spoke of the righteous prevailing, the silent Rohirrim who wouldn’t even give his name of yet, and the sensuous Suscana with an unnerving light in her eyes. These were the four members of the unlikely fellowship that they had tumbled into by no other reason than that the maia who weaves the thread of life had not seen it fit to cut theirs. What an unlikely bunch they were to survive. No weapons, enemies everywhere, the gates barred and shut. Not to mention that the only bulwark that could possibly stand between themselves and certain death was currently telling Regnar to meet him on the road to hell, his eyes dark with cynical fury and his voice as bitter as the cud.

Mir Wainrider, the Easterling lieutenant-general. No. Not anymore. Mir had been promoted to the Captain of the RhunGuards for his valour in the the Dark Lord’s War, Ariel had heard, a crowning achievement which brought an end to his colorful career as a shadowstep tracker-scout for a highly efficient slaver racket.

‘In the course of his career Mir must have reserved a place for himself in the darkest dwelling places of Mandos’, Ariel thought, ‘Yet he does not fear to invoke the halls of Mandos for himself as well as us. Is he fearless of Eru’s judgment, being a heathen, unaware of the all-devouring darkness that awaits him at his life’s end? Or does he know and not care?’

Death was so close, and everywhere. Ariel shivered, doubting whether this escape plan could be pulled off, yet ashamed that he showed his fear openly at such a critical juncture. He had lived as a pale wraith of his former self the past five years, fearing each raised hand lest it strike a blow, and now it seemed that cowardice had bred itself into his very bones. Would they die like dogs in the streets of this hostile foreign city, and their parched bones gleam white under the harsh sun for stray wolves to gnaw on? He felt bitingly the terror of death’s shadow, and welcomed the cold and clammy embrace of his mortality. Mir, too, must be merely putting up a brave face because his death was inevitable no matter what he did.

"You'll cooperate," Regnar answered quietly, but it was more of a command than a question.

Ariel shuddered at the chill in Regnar’s tone. He had heard this tone once or twice before, long ago, when he was still a youthful and overbrash Pel-Tirith recruit who served under his command. It was cold and hard, even cruel. It was obvious that Regnar was prepared to wrench whatever use he could out of Artamir even if the Easterling captain refused to lend his aid. How long did that tense silence linger? A second, or a hundred? Silverwood realized that Regnar had come out on top when Mir violently wrenched away his stare from Regnar’s grim countenance and smiled in bitter acquiescence. “Throw on the guard livery in the closet, then, I'll take you to my home." Mir said, and his voice was weary, wooden and dead. It was only then that Ariel realized how listless Mir looked. It startled Ariel, that one who held such an esteemed office and lacked for nothing, a merciless slaver who had ruined a thousand lives without losing sleep over it at night, should be haunted by sorrow like other mortal men.

He asked impulsively: "What could you have lost all these years, Easterling, that were as dear to you as the green and rolling fields of Gondor and the laughter of our family and friends that you have taken from us? What have you lost, that casts such pallor over you and dampens the angry flash in your eyes? You were not so inclined to yield back then, and neither were Captain Regnar so sa-”

Ariel choked off the last word – he had meant to say, ‘sadistic’ – and turned away to open the closet instead, ashamed of himself. Circumstances change. And people adapt to it. Perhaps it was only he who never matured. After all, he wasn’t mistreated in any way as long as he did his job, which was little different from what he would do for amusement when he was still a scout of Gondor, and there were plenty of wild game in the woods of Rhun. His master had a cruel streak that seemed common in almost all Easterlings, but it was almost never directed toward Ariel. Not as long as he retained the pleasing illusion that it was he himself that had taught Ariel how to hunt and made him such a skilled hunter. In truth, Ariel had never borne the brunt of cruelty in a way that other thralls have, although he had learned to fear it from watching how his master treated the other thralls, and it horrified him to se how it’s experience left such a visible mark on the temperament of his captain. But perhaps his captain was the wise one, and he himself a childish fool-

In the dusky recess of the armoire, the dark crimson and gold livery of the RhunGuards glittered in the sinking sun's rays which filtered in through the window. He took out the respective sizes and lightly threw them to Suscana, the Rohirrim, and last to Captain Regnar. As for himself he hesitated, seeing as there was no size that fit someone so lanky and so slightly built at the same time, and at last settled with a uniform two sizes too large and a crimson cloak to cover the unwieldiness of his livery. The cloak was embroidered intricately with the iron crown of Melkor, He who Arises in Might, of whose identity he had no idea except that he had heard him referred to by and by as the chief of the evil gods that these heathens served.

“I would advise you not to wear that,” Ariel heard Mir say in a half-amused voice, now sitting up with a hand closed over his still-bleeding neck. “Even the most thickheaded of the guards would notice something amiss if you flaunted the captain’s cloak out in the open.”

Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.

Posts: 5,228

K, here it is. I am so sorry it's taken me this long.

NAME: Merra

AGE: 11

RACE: Man – half Gondorian, half Easterling

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: None.

APPEARANCE: Merra is just about average height, and is a little shorter than her brother. She is skinny, but healthy. She has long black hair, and dark eyes. Her skin is dark, taking after her Easterling father, but her features are clear-cut and delicate, as her Gondorian mother’s would have been.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Because her brother, Penram, grew up mistrusting everyone and attempting to protect Merra at all times and never letting her out of his sight, Merra grew up believing that everyone was against her and she was the most important person in her little world. She quickly found that if she did anything wrong, Penram would take the fall for her. She therefore has a false sense of superiority, and an idea that she deserves whatever comes her way, even if she has to take it. She became a manipulative thief and liar, who played on her brother’s feelings (unbeknownst to her and him). She is a coward and will hide behind her brother at the slightest threat. She loves Penram deeply, however, but whether that is simply because he serves her so loyally, or because she truly, cares for him, is unknown. She is relatively sweet, however, and can be engaging and entertaining. Given a chance, she is soft hearted and kind to anything smaller and weaker than she.

HISTORY: She was born a slave, to a Gondorian slave woman. She does not know who her father is, though she is certain it was an Easterling. She did not know her mother, either, for she died shortly after Merra was born (presumably from complications from the birth). For the first six years of her life, she and her brother lived with another slave family, owned by some Easterling family. They were not mistreated physically beyond a few instances of some random oaths and maybe a few blows, but they were not always fed well enough, and so both got off to a slow start in growing. However, when Merra was six and Penram nine, an Easterling man came and bought the two of them and raised them in his household. They were treated almost like the Easterling’s own children in that he required very little from them, never trained them to do anything productive to earn their keep and never disciplined them in the least, unless it were to threaten them with no dinner for the evening, but that threat, he hardly ever kept.

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Folwren's post - Merra:

The night of the hunt was Merra’s least favorite night out of the entire year. Usually, they stayed home, and the noises of the hunt could not be heard quite so loud, nor so often. Also, at home there were things to do to occupy their attention. Penram stood at the window, looking out. Merra stood beside him, but her back was to the sights of the streets and her arms were crossed over her belly.

Merra had been just on the verge of asking Penram why Mir had brought them here to the barracks when a sound outside the door caught the children’s attention. Merra pushed herself upright and turned towards the noise just before the door was burst open from the outside and a man flung himself inside, directly atop of Mir. Three figures followed him, but Merra’s eyes were on Mir and the stranger, grappling now on the ground. When the stranger wrested the knife by force from Mir’s hand and held it against his throat, Merra sprang forward with an involuntary cry.

Penram had her arm before she had crossed half the floor, and he pulled her forcibly into the far corner. She turned her face towards him, and his body half shielded her from the sight, but she could not keep her eyes from being drawn towards the assailant and their master. Penram’s arms were about her, protecting her physically, as he always did, but he couldn’t stop the trembling.

Mir stopped struggling, once the knife was against his throat, and he and the escaped slave were talking rather familiarly together, Merra thought, but she could not fully understand what they were talking about. None of what the slave said made sense, and Mir’s responses seemed almost as wild. But one thing was clear: Mir was being forced to do something he did not want to do, and the man forcing him was enjoying his job of convincing Mir very much. Whatever was happening was not good. Mir might end up dead, and if he died, no one would be there to protect Penram, and if Penram died…

The stranger finally drew back his knife and his death grip on Mir, and his glance fell on Merra and her brother.

Okay!!! I am SO sorry it took me forever to get this up. I have finally read everyone's bios and figured out the characters here and have written mine, following as accurately as I may to Dimturiel's and Eorl's posts and bios, both of which reflect on mine.

Although I am posting this up, it is not complete. I still have questions that need answering before it is completed.

Eorl: In your first post, you noted that the children are half Easterling, but have enough Gondorian blood in them to make them look completely Gondorian. I fear I have somewhat twisted that. I noted that in Penram's bio, he looks pretty much Gondorian. I, however, made Merra look very dark, but have the features of a Gondorian. Will that be okay? You may need to edit your first post if you allow me to keep my girl's appearance the way it is. Please let me know.

Everyone: I have written two possibilities to Merra's personality. The first Option was the one I thought up first. I don't know why I thought up the second personality, but I did. I am, however, unwilling to scrap the first thought without getting your all's opinion. Should my character be a fairly 'good girl' and be somewhat normal (option 1), or should she be a bit messed up (option 2)? Option two will definitely add more conflict later in the story. I would love to hear everyone's opinion.

And, as I said, having finally read all the character bio's, I ran across this for the first time today:

Quote:

Originally Posted by Thinlómien

Folwren, I have the feeling you won't like my character...

lol! Why ever not? Because she's a selfish, pompous snob or because she's had multiple lovers? Just kidding. I think it'll be fun.